Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 - The Lost Chapters Remastered
by Newbie52
Summary: Taking place after the during the events of Modern Warfare 2, this story follows Task Force 141 and its allies as they endure Russia's invasion of the United States. Friends are reunited as Task Force 141 race against time in an attempt to clear the name of the United States and one of their own. As always, comments and reviews are welcome. Rated M for violence and language.
1. The Beginning of the End

Twelve hours before the events of Modern Warfare 2:

The Purpose and Legacy of the 141:

We are the most powerful military force in the history of man. Every fight is our fight. Because what happens over here matters over there. We don't get to sit one out. Learning to use the tools of modern warfare is the difference between the prospering of your people, and utter destruction. We can't give you freedom. But we can give you the know-how to acquire it. And that, my friends, is worth more than a whole army base of steel. Sure it matters who's got the biggest stick, but it matters a helluva lot more who's swinging it.

This is a time for heroes.

A time for legends.

History is written by the victors.

Let's get to work.  
"Let this be a guide to the service and sacrifice you give to the world. For it is your job to forge a better future." - CAPTAIN John Price

Captain MacTavish stood looking at the plaque on the wall for over twenty minutes, lost in his own thoughts. _To some, these are just words to get the newbies excited._ MacTavish shook his head in frustration. _Unfortunately, that is what it's used for now_

MacTavish stood before this plaque not for wisdom or to be reminded what he fought for, but to show respect. To show respect for one of the men who had spoken the words carved upon it.

Captain John Price was the last founding member of Task Force 141 to die in the line of duty. It was Price, Griggs, Vasquez, Shepherd, Foley, and MacMillan that had written these words years before the unit's creation _._

 _These words are what all those in the service fight for. They should be honored._ MacTavish gazed at Price's name. _As should the men who died so that the One-Four-One could come to be._

"I see you've developed the same tradition as I have, lad."

MacTavish turned to see MacMillan walking toward him. MacTavish gave the older man a quick salute before turning back to the plaque.

MacMillan stopped beside the younger soldier. "John and those boys left a damn good legacy."

MacTavish grunted. "I just wish Shepherd would attempt to live up to the words and give us _real_ missions that affect the future rather than using it to boost the morale of his new troops."

"The nuke hit the boys in the United States hard," MacMillan said gently, placing a hand on MacTavish's shoulder. "If there is another war and their military has to act, they'll need that morale boost."

"I joined so that nobody would ever have to go through a war like that again," MacTavish argued. "That's why this task force was created."

"You're missing the point, lad," MacMillan said with a sad smile. "Shepherd is just as restless as you are. He's using whatever he can to keep everything going. He doesn't mean to disrespect the memories of the fallen. Like you, the war has never ended for him."

They stood silently for a few seconds.

MacMillan patted MacTavish's shoulder. "See you at the meeting, lad. And try not to piss Shepherd off this time. I have to work with the man more than you do."

MacTavish smiled slightly as MacMillan walked away. "Good luck with that."

…

As usual, MacMillan and Shepherd were the first to arrive at the meeting.

In the center of the room was a rectangular table with a few files on it as well as a projector.

Shepherd was watching news reels from Russia.

In the five years since the Civil War, Russia had elected a new President.

Shepherd grunted.

MacMillan looked up from the notes he had brought for the meeting.

Shepherd took out a cigar and lit it. "The more things change, the more they stay the same. After all the death and fighting they have just another President."

"The war is over," MacMillan said with a slight shake of his head. "We were sent in to neutralize the big threats like nuclear weapons and madmen. We did our job, Shepherd. We didn't have to change the course of Russian history. We only had to minimize the deaths of our friends and allies."

"It wasn't worth it," Shepherd said, taking the cigar out of his mouth. "We fought and bled alongside the Russians. We should have known they'd hate us for it. We were shunned while the Ultranationalists were forgiven for their sins."

"Russia is no longer our main concern," MacMillan argued. "Unless they are a threat to us or everybody else, we should let them be."

"Locations change," Shepherd continued, ignoring MacMillan. "The rational. The objective. It's the same in Russia. Yesterday's enemies are today's recruits. Train them to fight alongside of you and pray they don't eventually decide to hate you for it too."

"Just remember that Vorshevsky and Russia itself isn't the threat," MacMillan said, glancing at the news footage. "It's the remnants of the Ultranationalists that are trying to stir up trouble."

"Trouble?" Shepherd snapped, shooting a glare at MacMillan. "Because of what happened forty-eight hours ago, the United States is at risk. That's more than trouble."

MacMillan looked at his papers and didn't reply.

Shepherd fingered a file on the table. "Boundaries shift, new players step in," he said to himself. "But power always finds a place to rest its head…"

…

Captain MacTavish entered the room. It seemed that everybody was in attendance. Roach and Ghost followed him in a second later.

Now Shepherd was glaring at MacTavish. "This information is top secret and classified. They don't have the clearance or my authorization to be here."

"These are two of the best members of the One-Four-One," MacTavish replied, taking a seat. "We've been through countless missions together and I trust them with my life. Whether they are in here with us or waiting outside until I tell them everything later makes no difference to me or to you."

"This is unacceptable," Shepherd grunted, extinguishing his cigar in an ashtray.

" _This_ is trust," MacTavish corrected calmly. "The men you work with need to know everything they can before a mission. Something that's not relevant in a carefully stated briefing can become essential knowledge while in the field. That was Price's wisdom and I agree with it. If you have a problem with that, then feel free to relieve me of my command. Otherwise, let's get this started so that we can get to work."

MacMillan shook his head with a slight smile as he continued to look at the files in front of him.

Ghost and Roach took their seats without a word.

"Fine," Shepherd snapped. "It's your call. I hope you can count on your men to stay silent in the face of… extensive pressure."

All the men in the room understood the grim insinuation should they be captured by the enemy.

"Sounds like we're going to be getting some action," Ghost said, sitting back in his chair. "Something big must have happened."

"I'm allowing you to sit in on this meeting," Shepherd said sharply, glancing at his files. "But while you are here, you will keep your mouth shut. Understood?"

Ghost glanced at MacTavish.

MacTavish nodded.

Ghost nodded in return. However, the obscenities that he muttered under his breath made Roach grin.

"We've got three points on our agenda," Shepherd began. "The first is that there are Ultranationalist insurgents moving outside the Red-zone in Afghanistan."

"Do you need me to send a few of my guys over?" MacTavish asked. "Derek Westbrook could help."

"No," Shepherd answered. "I'll go there myself. There are few candidates at the base for an operation that I'm setting up. I want to pick the right man for the job. I'm heading out this afternoon."

MacMillan looked curiously at MacTavish. "Why Westbrook? He's not part of the One-Four-One and there are plenty of other members who would happily go."

"I want Derek to get some more experience with the SEALs before he qualifies as a candidate," MacTavish answered. "Until then, I'll keep him around when they're not using him. What's next on our to-do list, Shepherd?"

Shepherd grabbed a file and slid it down the table to MacTavish who shifted it so that his team could see its contents. It contained a computer rendered picture of a man. The man looked to be in his mid-thirties and of Russian descent. However, he could pass for American as well.

"Vladimir A. Makarov," Shepherd said gravely. "He's a mercenary thug who considers himself to be a patriotic and honorable man. He's anything but. Countless terrorist attacks, bombings, extortion, kidnapping, torture, pretty much any crime we have a name for. If we're not careful, he could become one of the most dangerous men on our watch lists."

"This man hides his tracks well," MacTavish observed. "But this is quality intel. Did you convince Nikolai to go back into the field?"

"No," MacMillan said regretfully. "But not for the lack of trying. He still maintains that he only owes a favor to a good man named Soap."

Roach looked from man to man, obviously confused.

"Long story. Don't worry about it," Ghost said to his teammate. He turned to MacMillan. "How did you come by this information?"

"That's just it," MacMillan said. "We don't know. It came to us with Russian encryption codes. We are able to decode it given time, but our best techs couldn't trace the source. Regardless, everything checked out. Makarov could be a real threat. He has resources and informants everywhere. He also has more hiding places than anyone can count."

"Any additional intel?" MacTavish asked.

"We still have one more code to decipher," MacMillan replied.

"We're working on getting a man inside Makarov's Inner Circle," Shepherd added. "We need someone who doesn't have much of a record but is qualified to work in the field."

"That's who you're looking for in Afghanistan," MacTavish guessed.

Shepherd nodded.

"Well, I can tell you that's the best place to look," Ghost said with a slight nod. "Sergeant Foley thinks like the Captain here. He loves outcasts."

Roach rolled his eyes as Ghost gave him a pat on the shoulder.

MacTavish leaned forward. "What's the real reason we're here, Shepherd?"

Shepherd turned on the projector. A moment later, it showed a computer rendered video of a satellite orbiting the Earth. Seconds later, the satellite was shot down. The image enhanced and showed the debris being traced to the mountains in Kazakhstan. The video continuously looped.

"Two days ago," Shepherd began. "The U.S. Satellite containing the A.C.S. Module was shot down. Our people spent the last twenty-four hours tracing it to an airbase in the mountains of Kazakhstan."

"What's the A.C.S. Module?" Ghost interrupted.

MacTavish leaned back in his chair. "It's a computer device that allows the United States' security measures to differentiate between their planes and those of foreign invaders," he answered. "It's prevented warfare on American soil for years. If hacked—"

"Captain MacTavish!" Shepherd said sternly. "I would appreciate it if you didn't openly spew classified information about my country's defense system!"

MacTavish stood. "And I'd appreciate it if you would show a little more respect to the team that's about to get it back for you. The One-Four-One is for the greater good of everyone, not just one country," he said firmly.

Shepherd looked away in frustration and lit another cigar.

MacTavish sat back down. "Now, as I was saying. If hacked or duplicated, the United States would be open to an aerial invasion."

"That's right," MacMillan confirmed.

MacTavish took a deep breath and stared at the projector. "We have to recover this thing quickly. If anyone succeeds in hacking the A.C.S. Module… this will be the beginning of the end."

"When can you leave?" Shepherd asked.

"I can be ready within two hours," MacTavish said, already formulating a plan. "I need to get an evac team together. Roach and I will infiltrate the base and recover the A.C.S. Module. Ghost, I'd like you to remain here to greet the new member Shepherd brings back from Afghanistan."

"You got it."

"I think we've covered everything for today," MacMillan said as Shepherd shut down the projector. He turned to MacTavish. "I'll head back to London now and see if I can't get you an evac team quickly. Dismissed."

Once in the hallway, MacTavish turned to Roach. "I know you're pretty good with computer tech, so I want you to get back to the barracks and get your gear ready. Then find out as much about the hardware in the A.C.S. Module as you can. Go."

Roach moved off in the direction of the barracks to get ready. MacTavish and Ghost walked slowly behind him.

MacTavish turned to his friend. "How's your brother doing?"

"Actually, I talked to him a few hours ago," Ghost said with a smile. "He was transferred to Washington D.C."

"Who'd he piss off?" MacTavish asked with a chuckle.

Ghost laughed. "It's not like that. He volunteered. He said something about trying to get closer to one of the girls he met there. But at least _we_ get to do some real work."

MacTavish grunted as he reached his office. He stopped at the door and turned to Ghost. "I'll see you when we get back. And don't wear the skullface mask when you meet the new guy. It's a little intimidating."

"No promises," Ghost replied.

MacTavish walked into his office and reached under the desk, grabbing a metal case. He punched in the code and the case clicked open. First, he grabbed out a few cigars. They were the same kind Price had smoked before every mission. Next, he grabbed out his Captain's pistol and its holster. _Here we go again._


	2. On the Hunt

Following the events of "No Russian":

"Roach," MacTavish said, walking into the small office. "How are we doing?"

Roach had been at his computer for nearly two hours trying track the bullets used in the massacre at the Zakhaev International. It had taken time, but he was able to hack into some of the airport cameras and get close-ups of the shells.

Next, he made a computer-generated, three-dimensional layout of a single shell casing and started to run it through databases to find a match. MacTavish, Ghost, and Roach waited while the computer searched for a match to find the bullet's origin.

MacTavish turned to Ghost, who was looking over Roach's shoulder at a group of television monitors on the far side of the office.

MacTavish's second in command stood perfectly still and bore a detached look of hopelessness on his face.

On every television, there was a series of news stories covering the airport massacre in Moscow. Each news story ended with the picture of Joseph Allen; the newest member of Task Force 141 and the now accused American terrorist responsible for the death of hundreds of Russian civilians.

MacTavish sighed. "Ghost, You and I have been on countless ops together ranging from full scale assaults to infiltration and stealth missions and you have _never_ been this quiet."

"We should have known," the younger soldier said after a brief silence. "Allen didn't have to die and neither did all those people. This war that's about to happen… It should have been prevented."

Roach's computer beeped. It had tracked the bullet's origin to Brazil. Roach loaded a program to cross-reference the bullet with known allies and aliases of Makarov in the region around Brazil.

"I know how you feel," MacTavish said after a minute. "I've felt it before."

Ghost and Roach turned in surprise.

MacTavish noticed their questioning looks and continued. "Five years ago, I was part of a team to catch Zakhaev's son. We cornered him and I was told to take his weapon and restrain him. He chose to opt out. He blew his brains out to prevent us from finding his father."

"I don't see how that's your fault, sir," Ghost said, confused.

"Is _this_ your fault?" MacTavish countered. "Is Zakhaev International the One-Four-One's fault? Is it Allen's?"

Ghost was silent for a moment, lost in thought. "No," he finally said with certainty. "All we can do is make sure that it doesn't happen again."

MacTavish nodded, fingering his pistol. "Two great men have said that the strongest are those who can get back up after the world pushes them down. I have an addition to that."

Roach's computer beeped again, showing that it had found a match. Roach hit the confirm button and an image began to render.

MacTavish took his hand away from his pistol. "Those who are able to get back up after the world pushes them down can hit back the hardest."

The computer chirped again.

The squad gathered around the monitor.

"Alejandro Rojas," MacTavish said, examining their new target. "Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Get this data to Shepherd. We should be ready to move as soon as we receive our next orders."


	3. The War Begins

Following the events of "Takedown" and "Wolverines!"

"Alright," MacTavish said as he walked out of the small house the One-Four-One had used to interrogate their catch. "We got the info we needed."

MacTavish began briefing the secondary extraction team that had come to escort the One-Four-One to safety.

"Captain MacTavish!" Ghost called from inside the house. "We've got problems!"

MacTavish immediately turned away and found Ghost staring at a T.V. The images depicted endless amounts of Russian paratroopers entering the United States, specifically in Washington.

Roach stood silently off to the side.

MacTavish was briefly lost in his own thoughts. _I'm getting so sick of finding out about this kind of shit from the T.V._ MacTavish noticed that Ghost wasn't focused on anything but the still looping images. _His brother is in Washington…We don't have much time._

Ghost took off up the stairs, leaving his rifle on the floor.

"Ghost!" MacTavish called.

Ghost didn't answer.

A few seconds later, MacTavish heard the door to the roof slam open. He looked at Roach. "Keep an eye on him."

…

Roach followed Ghost to the roof. He was holding his phone up in the air and muttering to himself. "Two bars. That's all I need. Two bars… I need to get higher."

Ghost jumped onto the balcony of the next house, heading for the roof. The building was a story taller than any in a two-block radius. Roach ran after Ghost, hesitating before jumping to the next building.

…

"Things have changed," MacTavish said to the evac team. "The United States has been invaded."

There was a moment of grave silence as the men looked at one another.

The technician of the group booted up his portable laptop. "We're getting a continuous busy signal, sir. Any aerial cover or evac we may have gotten has likely been recalled back to the States."

MacTavish leaned his rifle against the car next to them, thinking for a moment. "So we got no cell signal and no satellite coverage," he grunted. "Could we make a call using a payphone?"

The technician looked skeptical. "Yes, but I still don't think we'll be able to get any evac."

"Not from anybody _you_ know," MacTavish replied. "Either way, we have to get moving. Let's see if we can find service or a payphone."

MacTavish turned in the direction of Ghost and Roach to find that they weren't back in the house. MacTavish looked up and saw that Ghost was nearing the top of the highest building in sight. Roach was only a few steps behind.

Roach caught up to Ghost and grabbed his friend's shoulder, turning him around. They were standing on the top floor of the building. There was a staircase leading to the roof and windows on all sides.

"My brother is in the middle of that," Ghost said quietly, his face unseen due to his mask. "I have no service and no way to contact him."

Roach nodded in understanding.

…

MacTavish turned to a commotion down the street. Six militia soldiers burst through the door of the building Ghost and Roach were currently climbing. There were another seven soldiers moving up the next building over.

MacTavish cursed under his breath. _We're going to have to shoot our way out of here._

The evac squad looked around, gripping their weapons.

MacTavish tossed his rifle to the technician. "Make sure we aren't flanked," he ordered.

The evac squad nodded.

MacTavish ran toward the second building as he drew his pistol. "Roach! Ghost! Militia on your six!"

…

Ghost and Roach heard someone clambering up the stairs as MacTavish's warning came through their coms.

Ghost moved to the door as a militia soldier ran into the room with his rifle pointed ahead. Ghost grabbed the weapon and tugged the man forward, kicking in his knee before ramming the butt of the soldier's rifle back into the face of its owner.

Roach moved forward, grabbed the man by his vest, and threw him into the wall before knocking him unconscious with a boot to the face.

Ghost grabbed the soldier's fallen rifle as five more militia soldiers crowded into the room with their weapons raised.

"Drop your guns!" one of the militia soldiers ordered.

Two men flanked left and another flanked right, examining the unconscious soldier for a moment.

The other two militia soldiers stayed where they were.

Ghost dropped the first soldier's rifle as Roach dropped his own weapon.

"Place sidearms on floor!" the militia soldier commanded.

"I'm having a pretty piss-poor day," Ghost warned. "Don't mess with me."

Roach slowly moved behind Ghost, placing his left hand near Ghost's right hip.

Ghost, understanding Roach's plan, took a small step back toward him.

"Kneel down and drop your guns!" the commanding officer repeated.

Roach quickly pulled out his pistol with his right hand while simultaneously grabbing Ghost's with his left and started shooting.

The two soldiers flanking left and man on the right were dead in seconds.

Ghost charged into the two men in front of them. Both hit the wall on the either side of the door. Ghost elbowed the man to his left and kicked the man to his right, sending him off his feet and into the wall.

…

Roach moved to help but pulled up short as bullets ripped through the wall and windows behind him.

Roach dove to the ground and rolled back toward the window. When the fire ceased, he looked out the shattered window for a brief moment before ducking back down.

There were seven militia soldiers spread across two balconies on the building across the street. Roach glanced up and saw that Ghost was far enough away from the windows that he wouldn't be shot. Roach dropped his empty sidearm and grabbed his rifle from the ground.

…

Ghost turned as the man he had elbowed attempted to rise. Ghost kneed him in the face before turning to the other man reaching for a weapon. Ghost ran and kicked the soldier's chest, sending to the ground.

…

When he reached the roof, Roach ran to the edge and opened fire on the soldiers across the street on the lower balconies. Three men were dead in seconds. A solider on the balcony retreated into the building as the rest returned fire. Roach backed up.

…

The man on Ghost's left rose again and jabbed with his right fist. Ghost caught the arm and sidestepped the soldier, bringing up his knee. The man took the knee to the face before being punched to the ground.

With a grunt of exertion, Ghost grabbed the man by his vest and tossed him backwards into a window. Part of the window was shattered, leaving the man dead upon its sill, a large piece of glass protruding from his chest.

Ghost saw the second man rise to his feet and moved in, punching rapidly. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. The man was barely able to bat the blows aside as he was slowly backed toward the window behind him.

Right. Left. Ghost changed tactics and ducked, spinning around with his left leg in an attempt to trip the man. The militia soldier leapt over the sweeping leg but was unprepared when Ghost finished the spin with a kick using his right foot. He hit the man square in the chest, sending him out the window to his death.

Ghost turned as the first soldier that had entered the room stirred.

The man took one look at the skullface mask and the death around him before limping down the stairs and out of the building.

…

Roach looked over the edge of the roof again and quickly backed up as another few rounds pinged off the side of the building.

Roach gripped his rifle tightly. Then he heard a new weapon followed by screams of pain from the balcony below. He glanced at the street to see Captain MacTavish firing his pistol at the soldiers from nearly forty feet below.

Two more men went down as MacTavish continued firing his weapon. As MacTavish took cover to reload, Ghost came onto the roof behind Roach and opened fire, finishing off the last of the soldiers on the balcony.

Roach nodded his thanks and looked down to see a soldier walk out onto the balcony, pointing an RPG directly at them. Roach grabbed Ghost and they started sprinting toward the opposite side of the roof.

…

MacTavish shot the man holding the RPG once in both legs and twice in the chest. The missile went off course and hit the ceiling just below the roof of Roach and Ghost's building, causing it to explode upwards. MacTavish saw Roach and Ghost leap off the side of the building toward the next roof.

…

The roof of the next building over broke under the weight of Ghost and Roach's fall, sending them rolling into the room below.

After a few seconds of groaning, both soldiers slowly sat up.

"You alright?" MacTavish called through the com.

"Define alright," Ghost groaned.

"Good. Regroup."

…

Everybody regrouped and moved toward higher ground in search of service or a payphone.

Up ahead, they spotted a civilian recording their progress. The civilian realized he had been seen and ran down a side street.

"Leave him," MacTavish ordered as a few men from the evac team moved to pursue. "After that explosion, everybody knows where we are. I've got a plan to get us out of here. Move."


	4. A Call for Help

"This is bullshit!" Nikolai shouted angrily.

Nikolai had remained with Kamarov in the five years following Zakhaev's death. Kamarov was also one of the few men Nikolai still trusted. Neither was happy about the war. After the slaughter at Zakhaev International, they were stationed on the western edge of Africa where they would be deployed into the United States if the Russians needed reinforcements.

"The United States wouldn't do this!" Nikolai continued. "They never wanted this war!"

"I agree," Kamarov admitted. "But there's nothing I can do about orders except to defect and I'd need a _damn_ good reason to do so!"

Nikolai gave up, kicking over chair and stomping out of the building. He walked out past the runways where pilots were busy working on the various aircrafts and moved into the barracks.

After taking a deep breath, Nikolai sat down on his cot and turned on the T.V. His eyes went wide and he turned up the volume.

"…pursuing a group of men, through Rio de Janeiro after they allegedly opened fire on the local militia. Nobody knows if this is related to the massacre at Zakhaev International. But some speculate that because there were several Americans found dead in the favelas that…"

Nikolai wasn't interested in the story itself. It was what he saw. As the video looped he knew for sure. A group of men turned toward a handheld camera. One had a skullface mask. The other had a mohawk and a very familiar looking pistol on his hip.

Nikolai leaned forward. "Son of a—" The Russian's cell phone started to ring. _Only one man knows this number._ Nikolai grabbed the phone. "Da?"

"Nikolai, it's Soap."

"I'm on my way."

Nikolai ended the call and left the barracks after grabbing his laptop from underneath his cot and stuffing it into a duffle bag. _Could be useful later._

Nikolai headed straight for a Pave Low on the runway.

There was a mechanic twice Nikolai's size walking around the chopper with a wrench in his left hand and a rag he was using to clean the window his right hand. He had just finished checking and fueling the aircraft.

The mechanic stopped by the right side of the chopper when he saw Nikolai approaching. "You're not authorized—"

"Save it. I'm taking the chopper," Nikolai snapped, instantly realizing that the other Russian would be a problem. "It would be unwise to try and stop me."

The man took the bait and swung his wrench at Nikolai. Nikolai ducked under the blow and grabbed the man's arm. Using the momentum of the swing, he plunged the wrench through the open sliding door of the chopper before kicking the door closed.

The door hit the wrench, tearing it from the mechanic's grasp. Nikolai ducked the mechanic's follow up punch and kicked in the side of the man's knee before ramming his head into one of the windows.

The mechanic's nose broke on impact and sprayed blood onto the window. The man fell and squirmed on the ground, cursing as he held his nose.

Nikolai picked up the fallen rag, wiped off the window, and deposited it next to the man before boarding the chopper.

As Nikolai's chopper rose into the air a half minute later, Kamarov's voice came over the radio. "Comrade! What the hell do you think you are doing?"

"Consider me a defector," Nikolai answered calmly. "An old friend called for help. You want to try and shoot me down, go ahead. Pray you do not meet my friend. I won't be able to stop him from killing you this time."

…

Kamarov took the hint and ordered the pursuing soldiers to stand down. He ignored the puzzled looks of the officers in his charge and sat down in a chair, contemplating his next move.


	5. Reawakening

Following the events of "The Hornet's Nest":

"Jump for it!" MacTavish shouted.

Roach leapt from the roof and grabbed onto the ladder as the Pave Low flew away from the favelas.

"Nikolai, we got him!" MacTavish said. "Get us outta here!"

"Where to, my friend?"

"Just get us to the sub."

Roach finally climbed into the chopper and collapsed.

Ghost walked over. "You alright, mate?"

Roach nodded and rose as Ghost removed his skullface mask.

MacTavish looked at the technician. "Where's the computer?"

"Sorry sir," the technician said, looking away. "It got shot up in the market. I left it behind with a live grenade. Nobody's getting any info out of it."

"Good work," MacTavish said, patting the man's shoulder. He addressed everybody in the chopper. "We did well considering the circumstances. Not many could have made it out of there alive. Get some rest. We'll receive new orders on the sub."

Soap leaned into the cockpit.

Nikolai took off his head headset and glanced over. "Hell of a world."

"We've lost a lot of good people in the last forty-eight hours, Nikolai," Soap said with regret. "Hopefully the info we got from Rojas is worth it."

"I hope so, too," Nikolai replied.

Soap turned to the pilot. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

"Well, if Captain MacTavish had called for help, I may not have," Nikolai admitted. "I came to help an old friend."

"Either way, I appreciate it," Soap said gratefully.

"It was boring in Africa," Nikolai said with a shrug. He looked back at the group of men in the chopper. "So, who are your top dogs these days?"

Soap sat down in the co-pilot's seat. "Ghost you already know. And Roach…He's a fighter and he's resourceful. And he's not bad with tech either."

"Let me guess," Nikolai said with a chuckle. "He was your pick for One-Four-One."

Soap raised an eyebrow. "Not my first."

"I know," Nikolai said with a small nod. "How's Riley, or Ghost, as you call him. I haven't seen him since plane crisis with secretary asshole."

"The war is hitting us all hard," Soap said gravely. He lowered his voice. "His brother is in Washington D.C. He was trying to get a hold of him when the militia found us again."

Nikolai was silent for a moment. He looked behind him again. "Roach."

The young soldier stood and leaned into the cockpit.

Nikolai turned and extended his hand.

Roach shook it.

Nikolai grabbed the duffle bag lodged between the seat and the door and pulled out a laptop.

"See if you can't help Ghost," Nikolai said, offering him the device.

Roach stared at the laptop for a moment before taking it.

"It didn't take him long to trust me," Nikolai observed.

Soap took out a cigar and lit it. "Maybe it's because you just saved his life."

"Maybe," Nikolai said. "Having life saved does develop trust."

Soap nodded and remained silent, lost in old memories.

…

Roach sat down next to Ghost who was still trying to get service on his phone.

Roach looked at the number Ghost was continuously dialing.

"Zujin Enterprises," Ghost muttered. "Most reliable phone service my ass."

Roach turned on the computer. Once it was booted, he logged into the closest wireless connection to their location before going to the Zujin Enterprises website and hacking in.

Roach tapped Ghost's shoulder to get his attention and activated the tracking chip the company provided in all their phones. He knew phones could be tracked from anywhere provided there was a decent internet connection and that someone knew the number.

After thirty seconds, a new window popped up depicting a satellite image of Earth. It zoomed from space, to the United States, to Washington D.C. and continued to move closer.

The tracking ended a few seconds later. The image on the laptop depicted a map containing street names near the Capitol Building. There was a purple dot that represented the phone being tracked.

The dot was moving.

After two seconds, the screen timed out as the Pave Low left the range of the wireless internet connection.

"He's alive," Ghost said quietly to himself. He shook his head with a small chuckle. "He would never drop that cell phone and it's so shitty nobody would take it. He's alive."

Roach shut down the computer.

Ghost placed a hand on Roach's shoulder. "Thanks, mate."

Roach smiled and patted his friend's back before standing up. He brought the laptop back to Nikolai who gave Roach a two-finger salute before placing the laptop in the duffle bag.

…

Soap waited until Roach left and leaned closer to Nikolai. "Don't you know how to hack?" he asked quietly.

"How do you think I got information from Ultranationalists?" Nikolai asked. "It's difficult to hack while flying, though. Now my friend, where is submarine of yours?"

When they arrived at the sub a couple hours later, everyone shook hands with Nikolai.

Roach and Ghost left the chopper.

"You sure you don't want to stick around?" Soap asked Nikolai.

"I have no interest in joining One-Four-One," Nikolai promised with a shake of his head. "But I've got nowhere better to be. I pissed off commanding officers when I borrowed chopper."

Soap nodded. "See you around."

…

"This is going to be hard, captain," Ghost said.

MacTavish and Ghost had just finished briefing the assault team and were reexamining the schematics of "The Gulag", a former castle turned prison. After Rojas' lengthy interrogation and a short database search, the One-Four-One had finally tracked down Prisoner Six-Two-Seven.

The briefing room was dark accept for the computers that depicted a three-dimensional layout of the prison.

"The last time I saw hardware as old as what's in the prison, my brothers and I were touring Alcatraz," Ghost commented.

"Then it's a good thing you've been shadowing Roach," MacTavish grunted. "Besides, I'm less worried about the layout and more concerned about the players."

"How so?"

MacTavish started pointing at various spots of the schematics. "They most likely have AA Guns and hundreds of guards with provisions that include everything from riot gear to advanced semi-automatics," MacTavish observed, tapping the table. "On top of that, the U.S. Navy has their own agenda. It's going to be a pain in the ass to pull off an extraction mission when the place is being bombed."

"We'll manage," Ghost said after a few seconds.

…

MacTavish turned off the computer and walked to the next room where he found Roach and Derek Westbrook checking weapons and gear.

Westbrook had joined them an hour before when the SEALs had arrived on station alongside Shepherd himself.

MacTavish joined them at the table. _Focused and effective._

They reminded MacTavish of someone he used to be. He hesitated for a moment, remembering the man and Captain he could never be.


	6. Emergence

"The Gulag"

"Five Years," John Price said to himself as he continued his daily routine. "I have been in the gulag five years."

 _"War is inevitable… if it ever even ended."_

Price cycled through his memories yet again. "I was trained by Captain MacMillan."

 _"To our comrades who live and die on the battlefield. Sent in for those who can't protect themselves."_

Price had started this routine three days after he arrived.

"I was top in my class. Best in hand-to-hand combat and marksmanship."

Price spent the first day assessing his imprisonment. The second day, he tried to make his escape. The attempt failed.

 _"Not every mission goes according to plan."_

The men guarding Price doubled.

"My attempt upon Zakhaev's life failed. I was promoted to Captain and attained Mac's legacy."

Once the guards doubled, Price knew there was no chance at escape. He was left in a dark, empty cell. Once a day, he was given a small cup of water and half a piece of stale bread.

 _I can mourn the dead._

"We took down Zakhaev. Many good men, some of them friends, died."

 _I can't envy them. Not if I am to survive._

"Soap killed Zakhaev. The two of us survived."

Price relived his life every day. Assuring himself that he could distinguish fantasy from reality.

On day four, he started memorizing the guard shifts. He used them to track time. Every day he reminded himself of the date.

He would not forget. No! He could not forget those he sacrificed himself for.

"I was to be a leader of Task Force 141."

 _"The strongest are those who can stand back up after the world pushes them down."_

The M1911 .45 Captain's pistol. It was his constant through all his recent memories.

 _Price used up the last of his strength to slide the pistol over to Soap, passing his weapon and legacy onto the younger soldier._

Price became content. He let go of ideas of escape. He spoke the same words every day. They kept him going. He would not delve into madness. He was content. He knew he had made the right choice.

 _The One-Four-One can do anything with Soap in command._

Makarov's promise to Price came true. Price was provided a small T.V. He saw the endless reels of the massacre at Zakhaev International. He saw Russia invade the United States. He saw World War Three begin.

BANG.

The entire prison shook.

Price was torn away from his daily exercises. He looked up as rubble fell from the ceiling.

Price didn't understand much Russian, but he knew that the guards were shouting. This could only mean that they were under attack. _Why? If they were to attack anything, they should be going after the sub. That means… they don't know. I have to get out of here now._

The cell door slammed open and a guard ran in. Price allowed himself to be dragged out of the cell. He spotted a second guard on the ground. A large chunk of rubble lay across the soldier's chest.

Price's guard led him down to the lower levels of the prison.

Price paid no attention to how long they were running. He only tried to memorize the route.

All of a sudden, the gulag was coming down on top of them.

 _Shit!_ Price dove out of the way as large chunks of rock and stone rained down on him and his guard.

There was a large explosion overhead and it became hard to see. As the dust cleared, Price saw that his guard was staggering around, disoriented. Price searched the ground for a weapon and spotted a fallen chain.

As the wall to his left exploded inward, Price leaped forward with the chain and wrapped it around the Russian's neck.

A uniformed soldier moved through the newly destroyed wall. Price used the Russian as a human shield. The new arrival fired once, killing Price's guard. As the soldier stopped firing, Price ran straight into him, his fist colliding with the man's face.

Price grabbed his guard's fallen weapon and pointed it at soldier he had just sent to the ground. He was about to question him when he heard the hammer of a gun click into place behind his head.

"Drop it!" ordered someone behind him.

Price hesitated and glanced to the side, recognizing the voice. "Soap?"

The man behind him hesitated as well. "Price?"

After a moment of recognition, Price's old friend tossed the M1911 .45 to his other hand and offered it to Price. "This belongs to you, sir."

Price was unsure what to do or say. He grabbed the pistol and placed it in his shredded jacket.

An explosion shook the prison overhead.

Soap grabbed Price with both hands and turned him around. "Come on, we gotta get outta here! Move! Move!"

The two men ran side-by-side toward the extraction point.


	7. Old Friends, New World

Following the events of "The Gulag"

"Ahh! Bullocks!" Price exclaimed as he quickly closed his eyes.

Upon reaching the helicopter, he had forgotten how long he'd been underground. It had been years since he'd seen the sun.

Soap, or Captain MacTavish, as everybody had been calling him, chuckled. "Eyes and sunlight don't agree after five years. Not right away at least."

Price sent an eyeless glare in Soap's direction and kept his eyes closed.

"Anyone got a pair of sunglasses?" Soap asked.

There was a moment of silence.

Price knew that everyone in the chopper was staring at him.

"Thanks," Soap said a few seconds later. He placed a pair of sunglasses into Price's hand.

Price reluctantly placed the glasses over his eyes. Once they were in place, he opened his eyes and looked at the floor. He slowly raised his gaze and looked at the snowy mountains and then the sun, admiring the view for a moment.

Within minutes, his eyes were adjusting well enough. All those flash-bangs he'd endured over the years allowed him to adjust to new light quickly.

Then Price caught his reflection in one of the windows.

He looked ridiculous.

Price tore off the glasses and set them down on the seat next to him.

Price looked up to see Soap grinning.

Price pointed his newly reacquired pistol at Soap. "Not. A. Word."

Price looked around at the man he had punched earlier. The soldier was busy putting a small bandage over his nose.

"Sorry," Price said lamely.

The man nodded. He grabbed a bag from the shelf above him and took out a laptop.

Price looked at Soap who had grabbed a spare pistol and placed it in his holster.

Soap sat next to Price with a sigh. "Welcome back. I might as well introduce you to my team."

"Give me the highlights," Price said, skipping further pleasantries. "Have heard anything from Nikolai?" Price asked. "He and Kamarov were the last people I saw before…"

"Nikolai didn't want to join the One-Four-One," Soap with a hint of regret. "But he's around. I had to call in a favor to get us out of Rio. Long story."

Price nodded.

Soap motioned to the man across from Price. "This is Gary 'Roach' Sanderson. Technological genius and a good soldier. He's not perfect, but he's invaluable in the field. My second in command, Simon 'Ghost' Riley is in the other chopper. Advanced in hand-to-hand combat and smartass extraordinaire."

"Sounds like his brother," Price grunted.

Soap hesitated, confused.

Price looked down. "Gaz told me about his two brothers," he said sadly.

"His other brother is in Washington," Soap said, lowering his voice. "It's bad out there, Price. How much do you know?"

Price stood, grabbing an overhead rack for support. He gazed out a window on the side of the helicopter. "Everything," he answered. "After Zakhaev's death, I was captured by a Russian named Makarov. He told me all this would happen. I was hoping he'd fail."

"He didn't," Soap said running a hand through his mohawk.

Price turned back to Soap. "We'll deal with him soon enough."

"We're all after the same man," Soap said, standing up. "We get him, we can end this war and clear the U.S.'s name. Unfortunately, we don't know where he is."

"We have a more pressing problem," Price said, lowering his voice. "The guards by my cell mentioned a submarine. I also heard the word nuclear. It's gotta be close. Makarov put me in there. When he learns of my escape, he might order them to use the sub's nuclear arsenal. The man doesn't like to be challenged."

"Then our first priority is that sub," Soap agreed. He turned to Roach. "Find it."

"We don't have much time," Price added. "Five, maybe six hours tops."

"Captain," the pilot interrupted. "A SEAL from Hornet Two-Two wants a word."

Both Price and Soap moved toward the cockpit.

Price did a double take and then sat back down, remembering that he was no longer a Captain.

…

Soap flicked a switch in the cockpit and spoke loudly. "You're on speaker."

An American voice came through the speakers. "Captain MacTavish, this is Westbrook. I know this is short notice and probably a bad time, but I'd like to request assistance with a transfer. The United States is in flames. I feel that I would be more useful back home."

Soap glanced at Price who was watching him curiously, as if testing him.

Soap sighed. "Derek, I understand. I can't say I wouldn't want the same thing, given a choice. When we get back to the oil rigs, we can make the necessary calls. Good luck."

"Thank you, sir."

"And Derek?"

"Sir?"

Soap looked out a window at the other helicopter. "Stay Frosty. Even when the world is burning down around you."

There was a moment of silence before Westbrook spoke again. "Yes, sir."

"You handled that well," Price said in admiration as Soap sat down next to him. "F.N.G.?"

"No," Soap said with a chuckle. "But I was hoping he'd join the One-Four-One soon. I wanted him to get a little more field experience. With this war, he's going to get it no matter where he is. I don't want him to have any doubt in his abilities. You and I _both_ know the dangers that come with doubt."

A new voice came through the speaker. "Captain, this is Ghost. Where to next?"

"I'll brief you over the private com," Soap replied. "But for now, we have a new member and leader of the team. Captain John Price."

"I served with your brother," Price said, standing up. "He was a good man. I'm looking forward to seeing you in action."

"Likewise," Ghost replied. "Try not to get captured again, sir."

Soap shook his head walked toward the cockpit to talk to the soldier privately.

…

Price stood and moved to the other side of the chopper, sitting down next to Roach. The soldier was looking at his laptop. There was a single screen up with three words.

ACQUIRING SATELLITE SURVEILLANCE

Price nodded to himself. _He's good._

Roach looked at Price.

Price leaned forward. "Can you get a hold of someone for me?"

…

MacMillan was exhausted. He'd been in meetings all day. The reports from the United States and around the world were getting worse.

The more killing there was, the more anger was produced. The more anger there was, the more casualties there were on all sides.

That was the endless cycle of war that MacMillan had always hated the most. He knew that the One-Four-One was doing everything they could to take down Makarov. But at this point, he didn't see what good it would do.

 _Hopefully MacTavish will bring back some good news._ All MacMillan knew was that the team had made it out of the gulag with Prisoner Six-Two-Seven.

As if on cue, a communications officer entered the room. "Sir," the man began with a salute. "A member of Task Force 141, designation 'Roach' requests video communication."

MacMillan tilted his head, confused. MacTavish usually reported to him. "Transfer the feed to my office."

MacMillan entered his office and turned on the computer monitor in the center of the room. He sat in a chair and took a moment to compose himself.

Seconds later, Roach appeared on screen. The connection was a little blurry.

MacMillan leaned forward. _He must still be in the chopper._

Roach nodded at someone off screen.

"Good work on freeing Six-Two-Seven," MacMillan began. "So what's next? What information are we going to receive and how are we going to get it? Interrogation? Bribery? What does Six-Two-Seven have on Makarov and how can we use it against him?"

"That's an awful lot of questions for a five-year prisoner of war and an old friend, Mac."

Mac let out a breath of relief. "What took you so long?"

"The world pushed me down a little harder than I thought," Price said as he took Roach's place. Price glanced at someone offscreen. "At least I left the team in good hands."

Mac noted the admiration in Price's voice and smiled slightly. "He's a pain in the ass just like you were," the older man promised. "Have you contacted Shepherd yet?"

"Soap is debriefing Shepherd," Price answered. He hesitated before lowering his voice. "Mac, I need to ask two things of you."

"Anything, lad."

"I want to officially lead the One-Four-One alongside Soap," Price said. "Second—"

"It's bad out there, John," Mac interrupted. "The United States is falling. There are Russian troops in Washington. The President made it out, but they were hit too hard and haven't been able to come up with a plan for a counterattack, I don't see how—"

"I have a plan for that," Price said firmly, cutting Mac off. "Shepherd is going to want me to go after Makarov. But he's not the main problem right now. Getting him will mean nothing if allied forces are being torn to shreds. I'm sending you schematics for a nuclear sub located near the gulag."

Mac's laptop chimed and blueprints appeared on-screen.

Mac raised an eyebrow. _Nuclear weapons aren't Price's style._

"Mac, I'm going to war with Makarov, Russia, and maybe even Shepherd," Price said. "There may be certain actions that I have to take to ensure victory. The second thing I need is your trust and blessing to do that. Do you still trust me?"

"With my life," Mac said without hesitation. "What are you going to do, lad?"

"You'll know when you see it."

The screen went blank. Mac leaned back in his chair, deep in thought.


	8. The Calm

"Is that all you got?" Ghost asked loudly as he jabbed at Roach again.

Roach easily blocked the jab aside. The pair had been sparring since they had reached the oil rig fifteen minutes before. The Navy had set up shop shortly after using the rig as a takeoff zone for the assault on the gulag.

Captain MacTavish had told the team to take a break while Price made a call to Shepherd.

…

Soap looked up as Price exited the room less than two minutes after calling Shepherd.

"Shepherd pissed?" Soap asked as Price stood beside him.

"I don't know," Price said with a small mischievous smirk. "The connection was lost before we finished the conversation. That being said, he seemed less than pleased with the plan."

"Well, then you'd better lead the ground team," Soap replied, folding his arms as Price began to watch the sparring match on the lower platform. "Shepherd won't be able to reach you until you return. With luck, you'll be in and out before the Ultranationalists know you're there."

Price looked at his friend curiously. "You and I both know that _luck_ has no place in the field," he said with a raised eyebrow. "Something's bothering you."

"It's nothing," Soap lied, returning his gaze to the sparring partners.

Price grunted in amusement and placed a hand on Soap's shoulder. "What is it, son?"

"I'm worried about the team," Soap answered, pointing to Roach and Ghost. "Nothing could have prepared them for this. The One-Four-One was meant to be a covert unit. We've never been thrown into a war like this before. Look at Ghost, for instance."

Price was silent for a moment. When he spoke, he echoed Soap's concerns. "He doesn't know where his brother is. Family is what's most important to him. He's throwing himself headlong into the war. There he's focused, but—"

"He's running himself into the ground," Soap said, continuing Price's line of thought. "If he doesn't find a relief soon, he could crack at the worst time."

"There's nothing we can do about that right now. If something happens, we'll deal with it then," Price replied. "Besides, there was a rookie in my team who hadn't been in war either. He did just fine."

Price patted Soap on the shoulder and left the office.

Soap contemplated Price's words for a time before joining Ghost and Roach on the platform.


	9. A Declaration of War

"Contingency":

"Alright, I'm inside the sub!" Price announced as he slid down the ladder. "Cover me. I need a few minutes!"

Price tossed his rifle aside and pulled out his pistol. Long range weapons wouldn't do much good in a sub this size and most of the fighting was happening outside. _The rest of the team will prevent any reinforcements from entering the sub And I shouldn't encounter much resistance myself._

It only took a minute of running before the launch control room came into sight.

Price heard Ghost shouting over the com. "Contacts to the north. On the dock, next to the sub!"

A soldier came through the door to the control room in front of Price. Price shot the Russian in the head and charged into the man, sending him back into three other officers in the cramped room. There were two Russian officers on either side of the door.

Price stabbed the man to his left with his knife and shot the man on his right twice in the chest.

"Price, are you there?" Ghost asked frantically as the sub shook slightly. Alarms continued to blare outside the sub. "The silo doors are opening on the sub! I repeat, the silo doors are opening on the sub!"

As the two men on either side of the door drew their last breaths, Price fired at the pile of bodies in front of him, emptying his clip.

Thrusting his empty sidearm into its holster, Price ran to the launch control panel. He'd studied up on Russian launch procedures on the chopper ride to the drop point. His hands flew over the keyboard.

Ghost shouted over the com again. "Price, come in! They're opening the silo doors on the sub! Come on! Hurry!"

Price paid little attention. _This thing is going to fire either way. But I can still change its trajectory._

Price hadn't told anyone of his plan. He didn't have time to debate.

"Price, do you copy?" Ghost shouted. "The silo doors are open! I repeat; the silo doors are open!"

Price succeeded in his task. "Good."

The entire sub shook as the nuke roared out of its silo.

Price deactivated his com and watched as the nuke traveled fast toward its destination. Price heard a click behind him. He felt a gun press against the back of his head. Price glanced at the pile of bodies. There was one missing.

The Captain of the sub stood behind him dressed in a white and blue uniform. He held an M1911 .45 in his right hand. Although the man had been shielded the by the other three bodies Price had thrown at him, there was a bullet wound in his left arm.

"I'm going to make you suffer before your comrades reach us," the Russian said in English. "A parting gift I will leave behind for my Commander."

Price had no other options. He slowly reached for his belt and sighed. "This is really going to hurt."

"Yes, it will," the Russian said with a smirk. "Put gun on floor."

Price pulled his empty pistol out of its holster with one hand and grasped something on his belt with the other.

"I said drop it!" The man shouted prodding Price's head with his pistol.

Price dropped the gun along with the flash-bang he had been holding. The instant it hit the floor, he clamped his eyes shut and covered his ears.

The bright flash that followed almost blinded Price through his eyelids, leaving behind a loud, high-pitched ringing in his ears. Price barely noticed the pain. The moment the light faded, he turned.

The Captain of the sub had received the full blast of the bright explosion and had stumbled back several steps. Price grabbed the man's gun hand as the weapon went off. The bullet hit a nearby control panel.

Price broke the Captain's nose with a painful head-butt before kicking in the Russian's left leg. As the soldier fell to a knee, Price grabbed the man's hair and repeatedly punched him in the face until his foe collapsed to the floor.

Price grabbed both handguns off the ground. He turned to the control panel and saw that the nuke had detonated.

Price nodded with a grunt. _Mission accomplished._

Price ejected the clip from his enemy's weapon and grabbed two bullets before throwing the clip to the floor a safe distance away.

Behind him, the Captain of the sub leaned up and spoke through a mouthful of blood. "You're going to… lose… comrade."

"What makes you say that?" Price asked, turning to the Russian.

The man coughed and looked at a camera above Price's head. " _He_ will find you."

Price looked at the camera and inserted a round into the chamber of his pistol before turning back to the wounded Captain. "I'm counting on it."

Price raised his weapon shot the Russian in the head.

Price looked at the camera again. "I know who's on the other side of that camera," the S.A.S. soldier said, moving forward. "I know it's you, Makarov. You play the manipulation game well. But now you have enemies. The United States. The One-Four-One. _Me_. You can't hide forever. My mission was to help the United States push back the invaders. I've done that. Now I'm going to focus all my attention on you."

The screen on the missile console went blank.

"You once said that all it takes to accomplish a goal is the will of a single man. And I told you those words could backfire," Price continued as he inserted the second bullet into the chamber of his pistol. He pointed his weapon at the camera. "I'll see you down the scope."

Price pulled the trigger.


	10. Answers

Following the events of "Contingency":

"Soap," Price said as he reactivated his coms. "What's the team's status?"

"Price," Soap warned as the older soldier returned to the docks. "You better have some answers when Ghost gets to you."

Price stopped walking. "I wil—"

"Bastard!"

Price saw a fist coming out of his peripheral vision. Price managed to bring his arm up and push the hand forward. He still took a hit to the cheek and tumbled to the ground.

Ghost threw aside his rifle and stomped forward. He aimed a kick at Price's stomach. Price caught the leg and yanked it forward. Ghost lost his balance and fell on his back.

Both men rose quickly.

…

Roach moved to intervene but stopped when he heard Captain MacTavish's voice through his own com. "Roach, let 'em go."

…

Price and Ghost stood a few feet apart.

"You detonated a nuclear bomb in the United States!" Ghost shouted, taking a step forward.

"It was necessary," Price said calmly.

"It was cold and ruthless!" Ghost snarled.

Ghost charged Price, throwing a right cross. Price sidestepped the punch, grabbed Ghost's arm, and threw the soldier backward to the ground.

Ghost rose again. "How can you sleep at night?"

"The same way your brother did," Price replied, taking a step forward. "Knowing that the work he did was for the greater good."

Ghost leapt forward again, punching at Price with his right fist, then his left, and finishing with a kick aimed at Price's head. Price batted both fists aside and caught Ghost's kick. He released the leg a half second later.

"My brother wouldn't have been parted to nuking an allied country!" Ghost said as he clenched his fists.

"The nuke was already headed for Washington," Price announced, making eye contact with every man present. "I changed the coordinates so it would detonate in the upper atmosphere. The electromagnetic pulse generated from the blast will take down the power for most of the east coast."

Ghost didn't move. His fists remained clenched.

"Yes," Price admitted, turning back to Ghost. "I probably caused the death of allied soldiers. But I've given the United States a chance to man a counterattack."

There was a moment of silence.

Ghost shook his head and walked away.

Price looked at Roach.

After a few seconds Roach nodded in understanding and went after Ghost.

Price watched as Roach caught up to his friend put his hand on Ghost's shoulder.

Ghost slapped the hand away. After a few seconds, he calmed down and put his own hand on Roach's shoulder.

Price nodded to himself, knowing he'd made his point.

The team arrived at the oil rig a few hours later.

Soap met them on the landing platform.

As they dismounted the evac chopper, Ghost glared at Price before walking to the makeshift barracks with Roach.

"Are you two going to be a problem?" Soap asked, approaching Price.

"He'll understand eventually," Price said with certainty. "Besides, I admire his dedication. If he can keep the anger in check, he'll be a team leader soon enough."

They walked into an empty office and Soap closed the door. Price sat down on a chair. Soap sat across from him.

"What do you think?" Price asked. "Did I do the right thing?"

"I think it was cold, calculated, and risky," Soap replied without hesitation.

Price shook his head. "I didn't expect anyone else to understand—"

"I wasn't finished," Soap interrupted. He leaned forward. "I also think that it was the right thing to do. The United States is preparing a counterattack as we speak. But you and I both know what the real threat is now."

"Makarov," Price confirmed. "During our assault on the sub, I made it abundantly clear that we're after him. We find him and we can end this war for good."

"The good news is that we have an informant," Soap said, leaning back in his seat. "We don't know who it is, but they've given us quality intel the last few months."

"Anything we can use to find Makarov?" Price asked.

"Our techs just finished decrypting the data," Soap answered. "The warning about Zakhaev International came in too late, but Shepherd got a couple leads on Makarov's location from this last transmission."

"Anything else?" Price asked.

"We have the full support of Shepherd's Shadow Company," Soap informed him. "The briefing is tomorrow at 1200 hours."

The door opened and Ghost walked into the room. "Sorry," he said, stopping short. "Am I interrupting?"

Soap shook his head and rose to his feet. He looked at Price. "I'll see you at the briefing."

Soap closed the door behind him as Price took out a cigar.

"My brother is alive," Ghost said after a moment of silence. "He just called from a chopper en route to London."

"I'm glad to hear it," Price said, lighting his cigar.

"The EMP created by your nuke allowed the United States to retake the White House," Ghost continued. "And… my brother told me he'd be dead if you hadn't…"

"The EMP achieved its purpose," Price said calmly.

Ghost took a step forward and bowed his head. "I'll accept the consequences of my insubordination as you see fit, Captain."

"What's done is done," Price said, blowing smoke out of his mouth. "If it makes you feel any better, Gaz and I weren't the best of friends at first either."

Ghost took a respectful step back.

Price rose from the chair and moved to exit the room.

Price moved forward until he stood beside Ghost. He lowered his voice. "It seems that good soldiers run in your family. I'm honored to have worked with your brother. And you. I think you can expect a command of your own soon."

Price walked out without another word.


	11. End in Sight

Following the events of "Whiskey Hotel":

"Everyone, take your seats," Price ordered crisply as he turned off the lights in the makeshift briefing room on the oil rig.

The remaining members of Task Force 141 sat down on chairs and waited as Soap set up a projector in the center of the room. Price moved to the corner of the room and leaned against the wall in silence, his arms folded.

A few seconds later, Shepherd entered the room with a group of thirty to forty soldiers. The soldiers sat down among the members of the One-Four-One. Shepherd strode forward, slid a flash drive into the side of the projector, and turned the machine on.

"These are our targets," Shepherd announced, pointing at the wall as two satellite images began to materialize.

Everyone in the briefing room sat forward as the images came into focus. One image depicted an overhead view of a large house that sat on a grassy hill in the mountains on the Georgian-Russian border.

The other image showed a large airship boneyard made up of the wreckage of numerous planes. The boneyard itself was located a hundred and sixty miles from Kandahar in Eastern Afghanistan.

"Our intel suggests that Makarov has often used the boneyard to buy and sell weaponry," Shepherd explained. He motioned to the second image. "The cabin is a store for weapons as well as a base Makarov has used to plan his attacks."

The two groups in the room glanced at each other for a moment.

"We'll split up into two teams," Shepherd continued. "Ghost will lead the majority of the One-Four-One in an assault Makarov's safe house in on the Georgian-Russian border."

Ghost exchanged a small nod with Price.

Shepherd tapped on the corner of the projection and enlarged the first image. He traced his finger on the wall. "You will land on this ridge and make your way from there."

"What about our evac?" Ghost asked.

"I am your evac," Shepherd answered, minimizing the image.

"The boneyard is going to be more difficult to investigate," Soap said, walking up to the screen and centering the boneyard's satellite image. "There are a lot of places to hide and a lot more ground to cover. That's why Shadow Company will be backing us up."

The members of Shadow Company took a moment to exchange brief nods with their new allies in the hunt for Makarov.

Soap nodded in the direction of Nikolai who stood in the back corner of the room, away from the other soldiers.

"Nikolai has agreed to work with a member of Shadow Company to secure a cargo plane from here," Soap said, indicating a small makeshift airfield sixty miles east of the boneyard. "They don't know we're coming so it shouldn't be well guarded. Four, maybe five men at most. If we secure the plane, we can ensure that Makarov won't escape if he's there."

Soap tapped the screen to enlarge the image of the boneyard and started tracing specific areas with finger.

"I'll be leading a squad into the boneyard from the west," Soap continued. "Price and Rook will lead another squad from the south. The rest of Shadow Company will enter the boneyard from the north. Spread out and cover as much ground as possible."

Rook raised his hand. "Any weather predictions or irregularities we should be worried about?"

"Nothing in the boneyard itself. But sandstorms are not irregular in the area," Soap answered. "Still, the less time we spend out in the open, the better. Use suppressed weapons at all times. We find Makarov and kill him. We leave at 1300 hours. Let's finish this."

"Sounds good to me," Ghost said.

"Shadow Company, dismissed," Shepherd finished.

The soldiers under Shepherd's command stood and filed out of the room without a word. The members of Task Force 141 remained seated and silent.

Soap turned to Price. "Anything to add, Captain?"

Price unfolded his arms and walked in front of the projection screen. "The One-Four-One has had a long week. You were thrown into a warzone. That's not why this task force was created."

Price glanced at Shepherd who had fixed him with a sharp glare.

Price looked at the men in front of him. "The One-Four-One isn't meant for open war," he continued. "We're meant for _this_. Ending wars. Everything you do now is off the record. But everything matters. Let's get this done."


	12. The Storm

"Loose Ends" and "Enemy of My Enemy":

"Weapons tight," Soap said, turning off his long-range com.

Soap slowly moved past the cockpit of an airplane.

Price spoke through the com. "Shepherd just made contact. Ghost and Roach are securing more intel but there's no sign of Makarov," the older soldier said. "It's up to us."

"Fine by me," Soap muttered. "See you in an hour, sir."

The infiltration went well in the boneyard. Nikolai and one of Shepherd's men were dropped off a few miles from the makeshift air strip.

Soap had entered the boneyard from the west with a five-man squad from Shadow Company while Price and Rook entered from the south with another five-man squad. The remaining soldiers entered from the north and divided up into groups to search the boneyard.

More of Makarov's men were also arriving at the boneyard.

One of Shepherd's men walked past Soap, not knowing that there was a Russian soldier right on the other side of the cockpit. As the Russian raised his rifle, Soap slit his throat and tugged Shepherd's man out of sight.

There was an eerie silence.

Just as Soap was letting go of the Shadow Company soldier, he heard a voice in the man's earpiece. The words did not come through Soap's own headset. "…intel cache. No Makarov. Shepherd… loose ends. Terminate Task… One-Four-One… extreme prejudice."

Soap tightened his grip on the soldier's neck and turned him around, using the man as a human shield as the other four members of the squad leveled their weapons. Nobody said a word for fear that the Russians would hear them.

Soap slowly backed up toward a dormant propeller.

…

"Rook," Price whispered. "Scout ahead. Find out what were up against."

Once Rook moved ahead, Price found that there were two men in front of him and three men behind him.

All were from Shadow Company.

Price kept a close eye on their surroundings. _There are a lot of places to hide here._

Price turned back toward the men in front of him. One of them had their finger to their ear as if listening to a communication. Nothing was coming through Price's headset. Price noticed the footsteps behind him stop.

 _Son of a—_ Price dove to the ground and started to roll as the men behind him opened fire.

The bullets meant for Price hit the two men in front of him, killing them instantly. In the momentary confusion, Price got to his feet and dove into an open cockpit.

Price knew he only had one chance to live. _Soap, I hope you're ready._

Price grabbed his unsuppressed Captain's pistol and shot through the open ceiling of the cockpit.

…

Soap glanced up as a loud series of shots echoed through the boneyard.

The men from Shadow Company looked around in surprise.

Soap took advantage of the momentary distraction. He shoved his human shield back into the rest of the squad and threw a grenade into the propeller behind him.

The resulting explosion only added to the confusion, giving Soap time to run for cover.

…

The sound of Price's weapon and an explosion to the west alerted all Russians in the area to the infiltration team's presence.

Chaos ensued.

Price took off running, shouting into an open com. "Ghost! Come in, this is Price! We're under attack by Shepherd's men at the boneyard!"

Three men from Shadow Company taking aim at Price were gunned down by Makarov's men.

…

Soap looked out of cover saw Russians heading toward Price's location. He laid down cover fire. _Price has enough problems._

Soap started running and managed to get within thirty meters of Price and saw the other captain turn to enemy soldiers moving in from the left.

Soap opened fire on the group even as Price's order came over the com. "Soap, hold the left flank!"

As Soap tried to make his way to Price, they were separated again as Shadow Company and Makarovs men started exchanging fire.

…

Nikolai and Shepherd's man crouched down behind a few crates. They looked over the crates and spotted a cargo plane on the runway with five of Makarov's men guarding it.

They were about to move from cover when they heard Price start to shout over the open com. "Do not trust Shepherd! I say again, do not trust Shepherd! Soap, get down!"

Nikolai and the Shadow Company soldier looked at each other.

Nikolai reacted first, punching the soldier in the gut before banging his head repeatedly on the crates in front of him. Nikolai grabbed the soldier's headset as the man slumped to the ground.

Nikolai moved out of cover ran straight up to the plane.

The Russians raised their weapons.

"American soldiers are in the boneyard!" Nikolai shouted in Russian. "We need reinforcements!"

The soldiers lowered their guns and started chattering into their coms. Nikolai raised his own weapon. Makarov's men were dead in seconds.

"Morons," Nikolai spat, running into the cockpit.

The plane left the ground a minute later. As he was searching for the controls to close the cargo ramp, Nikolai heard footsteps running up behind him. Nikolai looked back and saw Shepherd's man raise his weapon, blood dripping from his forehead.

Nikolai jerked the plane to the side, causing the soldier to lose his balance and roll near the back of the plane. Nikolai sprang out of the pilot's chair, grabbing his sidearm.

As the Shadow Company soldier raised his rifle again, Nikolai opened fire, shooting him in the chest repeatedly. The soldier tumbled out the back of the plane.

Nikolai holstered his sidearm and ran to the cockpit. Something chimed as Nikolai closed the ramp and the pilot looked at the readouts. _Sandstorms. Those could be a problem._


	13. On Our Own

Following the events of "Enemy of My Enemy":

"The One-Four-One is decimated," Soap whispered, his head bowed.

After a moment, Soap reached forward and closed Rook's eyes.

It was the first time that anyone had spoken since their narrow escape on the cargo plane. The plane momentarily shook from a sudden burst of wind.

Soap shook his head. "Shepherd murdered them all. Ghost. Roach. Archer. Rook. Toad. Scarecrow. And now, because of Shepherd, they will be remembered as traitors."

In the cockpit, Nikolai turned on the autopilot and joined them in the cargo bay.

"Those who died in the line of duty will be honored and remembered," Price said, placing a hand on Soap's shoulder. "I promise."

"Why?" Nikolai asked. "Why would Shepherd betray you now?"

"Shepherd lost a lot of good men to the nuke five years ago," Soap said, gazing at Rook's body. "He's always wanted another war. And now with the United States being invaded by the Russians, anything Shepherd wants to do will be authorized. No questions asked. A blank check."

Priced nodded gravely. "We have no power and no credibility. Officially, as a member of Task Force 141, I detonated a nuclear missile over allied territory. Shepherd will drive this war to its bloodiest end if it means that the United States will come out on top."

"And he will kill anyone who gets in his way," Nikolai added.

"Price," Soap said, standing up. "We have to stop Shepherd."

"The One-Four-One isn't dead yet," Price said, glancing at Nikolai. "We're still alive. Shepherd won't win. If we die, he's coming with us."

"Any help coming from old friends?" Nikolai asked.

"I can vouch for Mac and Foley being on our side," Price promised.

"But their communications are most likely being monitored," Soap argued. "We can't risk contacting them."

"How will you get into Hotel Bravo, then?" Nikolai asked. "You'd be going in blind. Shepherd would have changed decryption codes by now."

"There's no way we can listen in on their communications," Price agreed, throwing a Shadow Company headset to the ground.

"There's only one move we can make," Soap said quietly.

Price turned to him. "No," he said firmly.

"You've done it once today," Soap said. "The enemy of my enemy."

"Makarov won't help us twice," Price argued.

"Of course he will," Nikolai spat, standing beside Soap. "Shepherd is a threat to Makarov. Makarov will give us what we need."

"It's our only option," Soap insisted.

There was a moment of silence.

Something in the cockpit chimed.

Nikolai moved to investigate and emerged a few seconds later. "You'll want to hear this."

Nikolai hit a switch in the wall and the overhead speaker turned on.

"Captain Price," Makarov said. "Captain MacTavish is correct."

Soap clenched his fists.

Price remained still.

Makarov spoke again. "Did you think that I wouldn't bug my own plane?"

"I wouldn't put anything past you," Price answered.

"You know what we want," Soap said, looking at the speaker on the wall. "Give it to us."

There was a moment of silence before Makarov answered. "I see no disadvantage in helping you one last time. Your General Shepherd has been invaluable. He has added fire to the fuel that keeps the world in flames. However, he is no longer needed."

"You mean he's a threat," Price spat.

Makarov chuckled. "No more than you, Captain Price. Know that your time will also come."

Nikolai watched in silence as Price and Soap locked eyes. Eventually, the older soldier nodded and looked away.

Soap looked at the speaker again. "Give us the decryption code."

"As you wish," Makarov said. He audibly sighed. "Tango-Zulu-Whiskey-One-One-Three-Nine-Four-Two-Seven-Six."

Nikolai wrote down the code and handed it to Price.

Price placed the note in his pocket and knelt over Rook's body. He placed a gentle hand on the dead man's brow and removed a small rectangular decryption device from Rook's vest.

Price examined the device for damage and found none. He flipped it over and traced his fingers over a small number pad that he would type the decryption code into, allowing them to listen in on Shadow Company's communications.

"Remember," Makarov continued. "Shepherd is going to die because he is in my way. Your death will come much sooner if you continue to walk the same path."

"You should remember that," Soap replied. He walked over the wall and turned off the speaker before looking at Price and Nikolai. "We're on our own, now."


	14. Loyalty

"Just Like Old Times":

"I'll wait for you at the exfil point," Nikolai said as Price and Soap materialized from the desert sand. "Three hours."

"Don't bother," Price replied. "This was a one-way flight, mate."

"Then good luck, my friend," Nikolai said. He finished in Russian. "Thank God."

Nikolai's plane was quickly lost in the blowing sands.

After a few seconds, Nikolai turned on the autopilot and leaned back in his seat, running a hand down his face. _Price and Soap are on a suicide mission._ He leaned forward and gripped the flight controls. _I was never meant for that world. I'm a pilot and a spy, not a soldier. Not anymore._

Nikolai kept the com on, unwilling to abandon Price and Soap completely. He closed his eyes and listened to the communications intercepted from Shepherd's Shadow Company.

Nikolai listened as Price and Soap began to fight their way through enemy territory.

"Negative," a soldier eventually stated. "Gold Eagle wants those charges hot in less than three mikes. Get it done. Out."

Nikolai froze.

Shepherd's voice came over the com less than thirty seconds later. "All units be advised, this is Gold Eagle. The site has been compromised. I'm executing directive one-one-six-bravo. If you're still inside, your service will be honored. Shepherd out."

 _Damnit._ Nikolai shut off the autopilot and turned the plane around.

Seconds later, Nikolai saw explosions in the distance. Even from miles away, the explosions could be seen in detail.

Nikolai kept an eye on the radar. _The explosion must have been bad. Nobody's shooting at me._

Nikolai flew toward a small landing strip at the edge of the base. _I won't be able to extract them in this plane._

As he flew overheard Nikolai opened the ramp and grabbed an emergency parachute. After taking a deep breath, he jumped out. The plane crashed into the mountain behind him seconds later.

Nikolai landed close to a small, three-man helicopter. It was perched on a landing platform overlooking the desert that lay stories below.

Nikolai shrugged off the parachute and ran forward.

The pilot turned as Nikolai yanked the helicopter's door open. Nikolai punched the pilot in the nose before hauling him out and throwing him over the cliff.

Nikolai jumped in and started up the chopper.


	15. Off the Record, Off the Grid

Following the events of "Endgame":

"Why do I have a feeling we're about to be thrown into a shit-storm?" Ramirez asked Corporal Dunn as they walked into the meeting room.

The pair had been ordered to meet in an isolated building a few miles outside of Washington D.C. Foley had given them no further information and the building was all but abandoned. When they arrived, a secretary had ushered them into a large room with a long table in the middle.

"Let me get this straight," Dunn said with a chuckle. "In the past week alone, we've been shot at by tanks, planes, and helicopters. Then, the helicopters almost fell on us after a total blackout. After that, we ran through a monsoon. And to top it all off, the White House was almost leveled to the ground by our own military with us still inside."

"Your point being?" Ramirez pressed.

"You call the possible results of a simple meeting a 'shit-storm'?" Dunn finished.

"Well," said a man who sat in the corner of the room. "That's assuming that this meeting is even in the books."

…

Derek stood and walked forward, extending his hand. "Derek Westbrook, United States Navy SEAL. And you are?"

"Private James Ramirez, Army Ranger," one of the soldiers said, shaking Derek's hand. He motioned to the second soldier. "This is Corporal Dunn."

"Nice to meet you," Derek said shaking hands with the second soldier.

"What makes you think this isn't an official meeting?" Ramirez asked.

There was a loud chuckle as two more men entered the room. One was an African American man. He took a seat at the table.

The Caucasian man who had chuckled walked in a second later and removed his sunglasses. "I'm Grinch, U.S. Army."

"Truck," the man sitting at the table muttered. "Same."

"Pleasure," Ramirez said with a polite nod.

"So, what do you two think?" Derek asked.

"Come on," Grinch said a laugh, sitting down in a chair and placing his feet on the table. "We're attending a meeting that involves a whole bunch of soldiers from different squads and ranks that's being held in a location that's not even on the map."

"What do you think this is about?" Dunn asked.

"Whatever this is," Truck said. "It's big enough that Grinch and I were pulled off the front lines in Washington."

Derek opened his mouth to reply when three official looking men walked through the doors. Derek recognized Sergeant Foley of the U.S. Rangers and MacMillan; the Director of Special Forces. The third man was middle aged and Caucasian. His face was wrinkled and cleanshaven. He wore a grey suit and tie.

The soldiers in the room rose and stood at attention.

"At ease," Foley said.

"Sergeant Foley," Ramirez said with a respectful nod. "I didn't think I'd see you again before I was transferred."

"Technically, nobody is here," the man in the suit said cryptically.

"Are you military?" Truck asked the man in the suit.

"In the future you will know me as designation Overlord," the man replied.

"Are we a squad now?" Dunn asked, motioning to his fellow soldiers.

"That's the big question," MacMillan answered. "Please, take your seats."

Everyone sat around the large table.

Foley, MacMillan, and Overlord sat the head of the table.

"Everything said in this room will be off the record," Foley announced. "Understood?"

Everyone nodded.

"To those who don't know," MacMillan began. "My name is MacMillan, Director of Special Operations in Britain. To my right is Sergeant Foley of the U.S Rangers."

Derek tapped the table, ready to get the meeting underway.

"People are dying out there," Ramirez said impatiently, mirroring Derek's thoughts. "Why are we sitting here?"

MacMillan took a tape recorder out of his jacket pocket, set on the table, and hit play.

The voice of an older Englishman came through the small speaker. "This is for the record. History is written by the victor. History is filled with liars. If he lives and we die, his truth becomes written. And ours is lost. Shepherd will be a hero. 'Cause all you need to change the world is one good lie and a river of blood."

Derek glanced at MacMillan who leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard.

The voice on the recording continued. "He's about to complete the greatest trick a liar ever played on history. His truth will be _the_ truth. But only if he lives. And we die."

The recording ended.

"Who was that?" Ramirez asked.

"That," MacMillan said, picking up the tape recorder and placing it back in his jacket. "Was Captain Johnathon Price".

Overlord placed a few open files on the table. The files contained detailed pictures. One of them was a pile of burnt corpses.

Derek recognized the bodies instantly. _The One-Four-One._ Derek looked down for a moment in grief. He took a deep breath and looked at the other two pictures.

One was labeled Captain John Price. The other, Captain John MacTavish.

Derek ran a hand through his hair.

"You know these guys?" Ramirez asked Derek.

"His name is Captain MacTavish," Derek said, pointing to the second picture. "He's a good, _honest_ soldier."

MacMillan leaned forward. "They are traitors—"

"Bullshit!" Derek snapped. "I didn't have a lot of fieldwork with MacTavish, but I can tell you he's no traitor. Traitors don't bother helping out with transfers. He's the reason I'm not overseas right now."

"I've heard of these guys," Grinch said, leaning forward. "Well, I've heard the rumors at least. They we're pretty big names after the Russian Civil War."

"These are some serious accusations," Truck added.

"Where's the proof," Dunn asked.

"That's what I'd like to know," Ramirez said, leaning forward in his chair.

MacMillan exchanged glances with the two men at the end of the table.

"MacMillan," Foley said quietly. "This might work."

MacMillan nodded and turned to the soldiers gathered around the table. "We believe as you do, Mr. Westbrook. Foley and I know these men personally. Less than two days ago, they men were hunting down a war criminal. They and the entirety of Task Force 141 were branded traitors by General Shepherd."

"One of the founders," Derek muttered, disgusted.

"The rest of their team is K.I.A." MacMillan continued with sadness in his voice. He motioned to the picture of the burnt corpses, "MacTavish and Price were… _are_ the only survivors. That recording was the last we heard from them."

"We found Shepherd's body in Afghanistan," Foley said, gathering up the files. He left the pictures of Price and MacTavish on the table. "Price and MacTavish were nowhere to be found. They're still out there, hunting the real problem."

"And what is the real problem?" asked Ramirez.

"Makarov," Overload answered. He produced more files and handed them to each man around the table. "He is the man responsible for this continuing war. Task Force 141 is just Shepherd's scapegoat."

"The One-Four-One is responsible for the blackout in Washington," Foley said to Ramirez and Dunn. He looked at the rest of the soldiers gathered around the table. "They are responsible for giving the United States the ability to go on the offensive."

Overlord motioned to Truck and Grinch, who were watching the exchange in silence. "These two were originally pinned down in the suburbs that Foley's team cleared of Russians."

"Well, well," Grinch said with a sly grin. He looked at Dunn and Ramirez. "I guess we owe you thanks."

"No shit," Truck said under his breath.

"You're welcome," Ramirez said. He looked at MacMillan, Foley, and Overlord. "We still don't know why we're here."

"You're here because we need to put a team together," MacMillan said, rising from his seat.

"We aren't recreating Price's team," Overlord explained. "We need a Counterstrike Special Forces unit. Officially, you'll be assisting in the efforts to clear out the Russian forces and regain lost ground."

Foley leaned back in his chair. "Unofficially, you'll be at our disposal. Or rather…" Foley motioned to the pictures of Price and MacTavish. "Theirs."

"These men are fugitives. But that won't stop them for long," MacMillan promised. "The second they get a lead on Makarov, they will investigate. If Price and MacTavish need help, if they can't do something covertly, they will call me, I will call Foley, and we will call you."

"We need absolute loyalty from you," Foley said firmly. "In these times loyalty is hard to come by. We can't force you to do this. But your history in this war calls for a certain amount of…"

"Special treatment," MacMillan completed.

Ramirez and Derek looked across the table at Grinch and Truck.

Grinch looked at Truck who shrugged.

Grinch answered the unspoken question. He looked at Ramirez and Dunn. "We're in. The way I see it you saved our lives."

Ramirez picked up MacTavish's picture. "How well did you know this man?" he asked Derek.

Derek looked at his own reflection on the table. "Before his death, I got the feeling that MacTavish was keeping me around for something. I assume that's why I'm here," he said quietly, looking to the men at the head of the table. "If you need me for a team, I'll do everything I can."

"Looks like you have a team," Ramirez said, leaning back in his chair. He looked at the head of the table. "Who's the team leader?"

"We were considering Corporal Dunn," Foley announced.

Dunn shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Is there something you need to tell us?" Overlord asked sternly.

"I'm not ready for a command," Dunn said calmly. He sighed. "During the blackout, I faltered. I panicked. I'm not the best choice to lead this team."

"We're open to suggestions," Grinch commented.

"Ramirez did everything Foley told him," Dunn continued firmly. "No questions asked. He saved my life more times than I can count and frankly, the White House wouldn't be standing if it weren't for him."

Everyone looked at Ramirez.

After a moment, Ramirez sighed and stood. "I'll only do it if everyone is in agreement. We don't trust each other, people die."

Nobody objected.

"Looks like we have a team leader," Derek said. He looked at Ramirez. "What are we gonna call you?"

"As I said," Ramirez chuckled. "We're probably headed for a shit-storm so bad that it will make me _miss_ Afghanistan. You might as well call me Sandman."

"Three call-signs down," Grinch said. He looked at Derek. "One to go."

Derek looked down for a moment.

 _"Stay Frosty. Even when the world is burning down around you."_

Derek looked at his squad. "Frost."

A silence settled over the room as the three men heading up the meeting exchanged knowing glances.

"Sir," Dunn said to Foley. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to stick around."

Foley nodded with a hint of admiration. "I'll request you be transferred with me to Station Bravo, Department of Defense. They're coming up with strategies for our boys in the field."

"Where are _we_ headed?" Derek asked, motioning to the rest of his squad.

Overlord looked at the newly formed team. "Team Metal is to be deployed to New York. 1100 Hours."

…

"Soap's good for now," Price said, moving away from the wounded soldier. "But he needs proper medical attention."

"Good," Nikolai said from the pilot's seat.

The younger soldier groaned in pain.

"Where are we headed?" Price asked.

"Himachal Pradesh, India. There is militia there with doctor," Nikolai answered. "People I trust."

Price nodded and looked at Soap again, fingering his Captain's pistol.

"So what happens after that?" Nikolai asked. "Do we continue hunting Makarov?"

"No. We stay off the grid," Price answered, letting his hand drop. He looked out at the horizon. "For now."

Call of Duty:

Modern Warfare


End file.
